Murphy’s law is seriously overrated
by Black Perla
Summary: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Harry is back at Privet Drive. A quick, humorous -or so I think- reflection on his hellish life and an ending worthy of finding a house elf jumping on your bed! Written at Merlin knows what hour of the night…


**Disclaimer:** All characters, scenes and quotes from the Harry Potter book series belong to J. K. Rowling. Snippets from Murphy's Law belong to Murphy's laws. The weird plot belongs to me. The lyrics of the song or poem, whatever it is, belong to ME, so don't copy. Happy? Good. No sewing or you'll pay.

**Author's note:** I wrote this story last night and this morning, which means I was half dead. I have no idea if it turned out good; it's just a one shot. Technically, if I do receive good reviews, and someone asks me to make a sequel, I'll see if I can.

**Finding Each Other: **If any of you has read my other story, I'm sorry for the wait, but I had a little problem. The piece of paper with the plotline for chapter five kind of disappeared and I went on rampage, I won't tell you what came out of my mouth. Quite a bit of Italian and English cursing. Anyway, a while later, I was going through some books and I _did_ find the infamous scrap of paper, but now I'm stuck, not on author's block, just on homework... speaking of which I _should_ be doing Latin for tomorrow. HEEEELP! SOS!

**Anyway, here is the weird story! READ and REVIEW please!**

* * *

"Murphy's law is seriously overrated."

'**Quantization Revision of Murphy's Laws: Everything goes wrong all at once**.'

This summer sucked. Not that the others hadn't, but this one sucked even more. Generally, he would sigh and take this as his fate, but sometimes he couldn't help but curse those incompetent deities who tried, in all possible manners, to make his life as black as Styx.

'**Mother nature is a bitch.'**

His fifth year had been hell. Well, his fourth year had been hell too. And what about first, second and third year? Hell. As usual.  
Of course, only _he_ could enjoy the luxuries of a **_peaceful_** school year. Who was he kidding? He was destined to follow fate's way. All he could do was take it in stride, head held high. After all…

'**Murphy's Law of Thermodynamics: Things get worse under pressure.'**

And if he was worried that he'd come out of it bigheaded, he could always rely on dear old Snape.

Well, back to _why_ this summer sucked. He'd returned from an eventful school year. Mind you, **not** in a good sense. Tommy boy or Voldie (whichever one you prefer) was back in the picture. Back in the picture with a BANG, or more likely with a _crucio_. But that was fourth year. Anyway, _now_ he was officially back in the picture. Simply because, previously, Minister Fudge 'The-Oblivious-Not-So-Oblivious-Just-A-Stubborn-Fool' had denied YKW (You know who)'s return, ignored Dumbledore and helped ridicule Harry.

Harry, with infinite_²_ stupidity, had fallen into the trap laid by Voldie, who had managed to lure him into the Ministry of Magic. Harry had not only risked his own life, but also the ones of his friends. In the process he had lost Sirius, his godfather.

'**Corollary: If there is a worse time for something to go wrong, it will happen then.'**

The cherry on the cake had been the _little_ revelation about a certain –"of none importance to tell you yet"– prophecy concerning HIM. Destined to die, unless he defeated Tommy boy. As usual, Tommy made it into the equation. It was good to know, however, that even Dumbledore's office wasn't faring well… after Harry's teeny weenie outburst.

To put it simply, he'd returned _home_ feeling like pure, undiluted shit.

I mean, there is only so much one can take. No?

Your parents die, killed by a mad Dark Lord. And he, a small child, manages to survive the killing curse and revert it to the caster. He was the hero. He still was. He was so great, small but great. Weren't proportions getting out of hand? But _then_ he was left on the Dursley's doorstep, on the brink of a miserable childhood were his status was that of a 'punching bag.'

_I am the hero_

_I am the saviour_

_I am the scapegoat_

_Who's a slave of labour._

_I am the one_

_Who was marked for life_

_I am the one who sees the blood run_

He had lived with a caring (caring, my ass)… ok, let me rephrase that. He had lived with a family that couldn't care less if he'd fallen from the crib and had cracked his head. Thankfully that hadn't happened. God knows, then, maybe, Rita Skeeter's publications would have had some solid base. Not that anyone cared if the story was _really_ true. People just seemed to believe the lies they were fed.

After ten years of being labelled as a freak for unexplainable things happening around him, when all he knew, was that he was a _normal_ boy, Hagrid had arrived and shattered his life of lies. Out had come the truth. Who he was. What he was. What had happened to his parents. Hogwarts. And the only, the unbeatable, _oh bother!_ The usual dimple in this whole new amazing prospect of life: Voldemort. Maybe if he'd known, he would have asked for the bad news first, then the good.

'**Every solution breeds new problems.'**

His first year at Hogwarts had been action-packed. His first glimpse of what Voldemort could do, of fame, but also, his first real friends.

Second year had been even **more** eventful.

'**If anything simply cannot go wrong, it will anyway.'**

The chamber of secrets and the whole fiasco of the Heir of Slytherin. Him being a _Parselmouth_.  
Why was it that people, when facing the uncommon, tended to shun you and label you as "unstable" and "deranged"? Anyway, doesn't it mean the same thing? Merlin... One second they were treating him like a hero, the next he was the new Dark Lord in the making. He held the world, but without help. He seeked for a haven in Hogwarts, but found another nightmare. But what could he do? He was Harry – bloody- Potter, for Merlin's sake!

_I am the one with the world on his shoulder_

_I am the one who seeks for shelter_

_I am the one on the run from a murderer_

_I am the one stuck in a corner._

_I am the one_

_Who was marked for life_

_I am the one who sees the blood run_

Then, again, Voldemort had left his mark in his life. The young, handsome (Where did _that_ come from?), clever, powerful Tom Marvolo Riddle. He'd made quite an affect on him. After all, he'd said it himself, the ostentatious git:

'_I've always known how to charm those I needed.'_

Anyway, it was all in his favour. Good looks, power and cleverness. What else did he need? Oh yes, I forgot, a little pet basilisk and a diamond tailed snake called Nagini. Mmm, I wonder what the _ickle_ basilisk was called...

Twice they'd met. It was interesting how obsessed Voldie was. If he hadn't known he was number one on his 'to kill' hit list, he'd have thought Tom was stalking him (that was supposed to be a joke…). Sometimes he'd felt like giving everything up. It'd been twice, but it scared him to think how persuasive Tom could be. The darkness lured him. The farthest part of his mind begged for it to fuse with the light, to make it normal, to make it grey. Nor one, nor the other.

_Every day_

_Every night_

_It's the same thing_

_On a continuous flight._

_Flashes of darkness_

_Flashes of light_

_Running around me_

_Like my demons in life._

Sometimes he wondered why he had such thoughts. Wasn't he the saviour? Wasn't he the noble Gryffindor that was supposed to save them all? Defeat the Dark Lord? But why? Why? Why him? Just, _why_ in general? Couldn't _they_ do something about it for once? It had been unofficial, he hadn't know then, yet, about the prophecy, but it wasn't hard to notice how much they depended on him. On a child.

_Down one road_

_Up another_

_I am the one who cannot stop_

_I am the one destined to top._

_I am the one_

_Who was marked for life_

_I am the one who sees the blood run_

People hold so many expectations. They seem to think he can save them all, be there for them. They paint him as the superman kind, but frankly, I think _he_ should be on some Super Hero's saving list. It's not every day you have a mad, psychotic wizard -which probably hasn't had a bath in long time- hot on your heals.

_Why does the world_

_Ask of me so much?_

_Why can't I just stop and make my own choice?_

_What if I stopped and turned away,_

_What if I walked down my own way?_

His third year was rather Voldie free, -though I'm not saying it was less eventful. Fate was giving poor Harry a good dose of adventure. He'd sometimes wondered idly, if it had something to do with his previous rather monotonous living. Though he wouldn't account running from Dudley and ending up on the kitchen roof as monotonous. Maybe it had to do with lack of adventure films? Ha! Last summer he hadn't even had a chance to see the news! What would the Dursleys have done, if he'd asked them to see a film?

That summer had really been the worst. What'd bothered him was the lack of news. If _he_ was the person being followed by Tommy boy, shouldn't they inform _him_ of the happenings of the Wizarding World?

Dumbledore had crossed the line. Ignoring him. Ignoring him. Ignoring him. Do you get the point? That was bloody annoying! Him and his stupid twinkling eyes, his crooked nose and, and HIM! 'Dear boy,' he'd say, 'how are you doing?' 'Very well thanks. Just got Voldie stalking me, my life is Hell and you're ignoring me. Did you realize you were asking the question to the wall? I'm over here. On your left. By the way, did I mention my life is a living HELL?'

_What if I told you I hate your face,_

_Hate your nose and insatiable pace?_

Life was a road, a cross road. People pulled him towards a side and another. But did they stop and ask him where he wanted to go? Maybe he didn't want to go north, or south. Maybe he just wanted to stay stuck in the middle, like a lamp post. They kept him running, but every day it got harder. Every day that awareness grew, he knew both sides had valid points, but couldn't there be a compromise? Why was it so bloody complicated? Couldn't they see? Where they blind?

Yes.

He wanted to stop. Turn around. Follow anyone but them. The both of them.

_What if I turned from all that is good?_

_Just because I cannot keep up?_

Didn't people realize it was a game? A play? They were merely pawns, in the hands of the two leaders. Maybe he'd been labelled _the _saviour, but he was there, on the board with the others, just in a higher position. They were all being used.

Didn't they say that great people, wizards, were always slightly mad? Look at Tom, he'd already gone round the bend. Dumbledore, on the other hand, hadn't crossed _that_ line, but his mental stability was seriously debated. Those blasted lemon drops. Sometimes he wished he could be present at staff meetings, just so he could see the look on Snape's face when he was offered one of those things.

They both had there faults. They were two sides of the coin, but in essence, weren't they the same coin? For all he cared, they could stew in their own mess… though…

_What if I discarded the way of the dark,_

_What if I told them 'it's a big farce'?_

_I am the one_

_Who was marked for life_

_I am the one who **saw** the blood run_

The first three weeks had seemed like months. Thanks to the 'crowd's' threats, the Dursleys had held low, with the exception of a few caring (cough) scornful comments thrown at him. The commentary was of little importance, merely because Harry was in 'sponge' mode. This meant he'd absorb whatever was said, done, thrown at him, and he'd only react if someone squeezed him. Finally, after three weeks of misery, self pity and a whole load of depression Harry had come back to life.

Was it worth wasting away in pity and sorrow? Was it worth his parents' sacrifice to stop living? Hadn't his mother died to give him a chance? One chance he'd been given. But this time, Harry had come out of the hurricane of happenings with a new persona. A new inner sight. Something that would help him out of this mess that was his life. From now on, before acting, he would analyze the situation, whatever the tray presented him with.

Also his resolution had gone up a few notches. He was fed up. The world was divided in dark or light, black or white, hate or love, Voldemort or Albus Dumbledore, DE or OoTP. Where had the grey gone? Where were those who stood on neither side? Where were those who appreciated darkness and light? Where was that damned lamp post? Together, merged with one another. It seemed, to him, that everyone had forgotten that there could be no light without darkness, or vice versa.

'Hurry up boy! Clean that mess up,' screeched aunt Petunia. Yes, you guessed it. The darling Dursleys had got over their fear. That was part of the reason why his summer was Hell. But he could take it, he was used to this.

The chores were back, at full force. The comments as scathing as ever, though none could surpass snappy Snape's level. But he didn't mind. After all, they did keep his mind off other less favourable thoughts. And this year, at least, he had permission to keep his trunk in his bedroom, so that he could study for next year.

Today they were expecting guests. They, as in Petunia, Vernon and ickle gooey Duddykins. He was just the 'guy' supposed to cook, wash, tidy and scrub before the guests arrived. After that, he had to stay cropped up in his bedroom, making no noise whatsoever and pretending he didn't exist. Does that sound familiar? Yeeeesss.

Harry finished washing the plates and cutlery and getting the table ready. Finally he hoovered the floor and placed the various dishes on the table. All except for the pudding… _I wonder why?_

The door bell rang. 'Up, Potter. And remember, one noise, one single noise and you're out. OUT! Do you get it freak?' -Yes, yes, he got it alright, rhino. Just stop breathing your putrid breath in his face!

Life was shit at times, but he kept up with it. If he didn't he'd go mad, and well, just look at what happened to old Tommy boy. Anyhow, he 'd decided now. He was no longer going to be The Boy Who Lived, he was Harry, Harry Potter. Fifteen years old, going on sixteen, messy black hair, green eyes and glasses. And someone with a temper you wouldn't want to cross.

From now on, his mind, his actions and plans where his. He was the brain, he was in control of his _own_ life. But he wouldn't be so presumptuous as to take control of someone else's, when he himself hated people doing _that_ to him. Things were going to change.

_Now I have taken this mask away,_

_Now I have settled the end of the play._

Harry ran up the stairs as quietly as possible. Hurriedly he slid through the door and closed it with a soft click. Turning around, he was met by a much unexpected sight.

'**If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.'**

If he was hoping for a repeat of second year, his wish had come true, only _a bit_ worse. Damn it. (In dire occasions, cursing comes second to nature)

_Now I have turned and walked away_

_Only to find you there again._

Harry blanched. Quickly he took a few steps backwards, only to go crashing into the door. Slowly he slid down the smooth wooden surface of the door. Raking a hand through his hair he dropped his head on his knees. Gradually he started shaking. Finally his last tendril of patience snapped.

_Now I am laughing, now I am sighing,_

_Now I am crying, now I am shouting._

He laughed. Hysterically. Loudly. Choking. He cried. And, finally, he looked up to face the one person, who, just now, he didn't need, laying on his bed as if it were a daily occurrence, smiling at him; and which, frankly, he didn't need in his life.

"Riddle, what the fuck are you doing here?"

_Now I look up and face you again,_

_All I say is: "Murphy's won again."_

According to O'Toole's Commentary, **'Murphy was an optimist.'**

* * *

**A/N: That was weird, indeed! Review, Please!**

* * *

**A/N: Just corrected some errors which my beedy eyes had missed.**


End file.
